


A Girl Like You

by allfireburns



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Flirting, POV First Person, Pre-Canon, Snark, Unfinished and Discontinued
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 07:55:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allfireburns/pseuds/allfireburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The best way to make a girl fall for you? Strangely, not knocking her out and tying her up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Girl Like You

You want to know something they don't tell you about being a spy? Alright, let's be fair. There are a lot of things they don't tell you about being a spy, from the terrible hours to how _incredibly_ boring it is most of the time, but the big one is _relationships_. Years of training, over a decade of covert ops, intimate knowledge of how to bug a room or take out an enemy, but it comes down to personal relationships and you're on your own. Approaching another operative who might decide to shoot you? No problem. Approaching someone you're genuinely interested in? Now there's a challenge.

This is further complicated when the person you're interested in happens to be working at cross purposes to your assignment.

Her name's Fiona Glenanne. IRA agent, trained in explosives. Trouble with a capital T. And currently looking at me like she wants to set me on fire. Actually, all things considered, she probably does.

"Look, it's nothing personal, alright? I just couldn't let you blow up that bank." I keep holding up my hands, palms out, to placate her, like she's going to do something. She's tied up, for God's sake. But she's got this glare that could punch through steel, and she keeps smiling every now and then, like she knows something I don't.

"Why not?"

I think we've been over this about seventeen times. This makes eighteen.

"I can't tell you that." It's like she's never heard of privileged information, or maybe just doesn't care.

"Oh, so I'm just supposed to tell people I didn't carry through because some mysterious American knocked me out and tied me up?"

I frown, and look around the room like I'm going to find logic hiding in a corner. It has good reason to hide from this woman. Former KGB agents would want to hide from her. And somehow that's attractive.

"That... seems like a pretty good reason, yeah. Look, if you want, you can even say I threatened you. Waved around a gun or something." I didn't, but it's pretty much expected in Northern Ireland. If the gun isn't visible, it's more or less assumed.

"Oh, thanks, that's sweet." There's that cyanide smile again, sardonic and sweet all at once, and I can't help but sigh. Anyone who smiles like that is someone to look out for.

"Look - Fiona, right?" I _know_ her name's Fiona, but it ever hurts to pretend you know less than you really do. People tend to underestimate you that way. I wait for her to nod before I say anything else. "I'm going to untie you, and then you can leave, no problem. Alright?"

The smile doesn't go away. "Sure."

I walk around behind her, lean down to untie her hands - and get kicked in the head for my trouble, as Fiona pulls my gun out of its holster, flicks the safety off, and aims it at me. You see, here is the fundamental error in judgment. Professional spooks, the ones trained by a government, can and often do have gaps in their knowledge. Members of terrorist organizations, organized crime, and the IRA usually can't afford that, since they don't have as much to back them up. An IRA agent is likely to be able to untie herself, and not give the slightest indication that she's doing so.

Neither of us move. I'm kneeling on the floor, ignoring the beginning of a major headache to focus on the gun pointed at me, and she's standing over me. It's hard to get a gun away from someone in this position. Sure, it's possible, but chances are they're going to see you move first, and have time to pull that trigger.

Fiona moves the gun away, holding it at her shoulder, pointed at the ceiling. "That was for knocking me out."

"I said I was sorry." I take a chance and get to my feet. Thankfully, she doesn't shoot me. And now I can pay attention to the headache. On reflection, knocking her out and tying her up, not the best way to get a woman's attention. Even if you do apologize

"And that's why I didn't shoot you." She smiles again, with a quick flash of teeth, playful and dangerous in a way that makes your stomach clench and what's more, I can tell she knows it. "You can call me Fi, by the way."

She turns and walks out, perfectly confident, not even bothering to keep an eye to her back, and there's not really anything I can do but watch her go.

It takes me a minute to realize she took my gun.


	2. And Now You've Come Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never accept offers of help from pretty Irish girls.

So here's the thing. A spy doesn't always rely on being anonymous and staying unnoticed - but most of the time it really, really helps. Finding out someone's worked out who you are, _especially_ in a foreign country in a city where working for the US government (or any government), even indirectly, could get you shot? Never fun.

It isn't finding Fiona in the room I'm renting that worries me. I actually manage to keep my reaction to a minimum, as I open the door and there she is, lounging against the wall, my gun in her hand. I blink and close the door behind me, calmly as I can.

"Hi, Fiona..." Talk slowly, soothingly, like you would to a big and overly aggressive dog. Maybe then she won't shoot me,because I can't really think of any other compelling reason for her to be here. Then again, she doesn't look like someone planning to shoot anyone, angry or annoyed or...

She looks _amused_.

"I've been waiting for you for almost an hour." She pushes herself away from the wall and starts walking across the room, toward me.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. If I'd known you were expecting me... for what, exactly?"

"Oh, nothing important." The shabby couch stands between the two of us - I didn't buy it, it came with the place. I'm not even used to having furniture in my apartments. She stops and leans forward against the couch, arms folded and braced on the back of it. The way that displays her cleavage can _not_ be unintentional, though I'm doing my best to ignore it. "I just wanted to say hi, Michael."

_That_ does worry me. The kind of worry that makes your heart jump, makes you stop breathing for a second. No big deal.

"Iiiii... think you might have the wrong person, but if I run into Michael, I'll be sure to give him the message."

"Oh, please. Does that really work for you?" It's hard to keep an eye on where the gun is when both her hands are just behind the couch. If I didn't know better, I'd think she's doing this just to frustrate me. Although, now that I think about it, I _don't_ know better, so I can't even rule that out.

"Hardly ever. What do you want?"

"I really did mean what I said." She tilts her head to one side, the taut line of her neck standing out. It's extremely distracting, somehow, and I think she knows it.

"About what?"

"I just wanted to talk."

"You know, every time someone says that to me, something goes wrong, and people get shot at."

Fiona straightens up, holds up the gun for me to see, and then tosses it to me. I catch it, praying the safety's on, and grip it uncertainly. No spy - or IRA agent - is going to give up their only weapon that easily, so she's obviously got another one. I just can't figure out where she's keeping it - there aren't many places on her outfit where she'd be able to conceal a gun.

"See?" she says with a smile. "I'm not going to shoot you."

Not just yet, at least.

I check the gun absently, only taking my eyes off her for a second. It doesn't look like it's been tampered with, but I'm certainly not going to trust it until I've made sure. "Alright. What are we talking about?"

Bracing herself on the back of the couch, Fiona hops _over_ it to sit facing me, calmly crossing her legs and folding her hands on her laps with a patently false innocent smile. "I wanted to talk about _you_, Michael!" All bright and cheerful and entirely mocking. I have to wonder if she's like this with everyone, or if I'm the only one who gets this attitude.

"And here I was under the impression you knew everything about me."

"Why would you think that?"

"Well, you knew my name..."

"Oh, that was easy. I traced your gun."

I frowned and gripped my gun, feeling... strangely violated. And where had she even found the resources to... Never mind.

"So what _don't_ you know about me?"

"All sorts of things, I'm sure. But just now? What you're doing here, for a start." As if that Irish accent of hers isn't charming enough, she flashes me a smile I'm sure has convinced many a man to give away more than just a little information.

"No."

The smile doesn't waver even a bit. She's good. And extremely confident, considering I'm holding the gun. "Excuse me?"

"I can't tell you that."

"If you're going to go around keeping me from doing _my_ job, I think I should-"

"That was a one time thing! I wasn't exactly going to make a habit of it."

"I want to help you."

That surprises me. _And_ worries me. Either she doesn't know what I'm doing and is just crazy, or she _does_ know and wants in for reasons that can't be any good at all, and certainly won't help _me_.

"Sorry, no."

She takes it well, bounding off the couch and starting toward me - or just the door, it's really hard to tell. I step out of the way, holding the door open for her, and she walks by, still with that confident smile. "Fine. I'll see you around, Michael."

"I really doubt it," I answer, as I let the door go and it swings shut behind her. If things go well, I should be out of the country within the week.


End file.
